


The Valiant

by selocon



Category: Original Work
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-22 03:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13755240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selocon/pseuds/selocon
Summary: The holy warrior of the gods has to lead a band of rag-tag companions to obtain the Wold Chalice, an artifact with incredible powers





	1. Chapter 1

Two men sit around a table closest to the fire in a small tavern. One, a burly man with a beard and hair tied up in a short ponytail, sits with his hood up on his forest-green and brown cloak, a longbow leaned against the table next to him. The other has a well trimmed beard, and short cut black hair, he's dressed in chainmail armor, and has a sword belt with a longsword in it draped over the third chair at the table.

"So you claim it's in here?" The first man asks, tapping a finger on a large dark patch on the map laid out over the table. He has a thick Northern accent, near impossible to pin down to one particular part.

"Its gotta be, otherwise I have spent the last 30 years chasing something that's a legend." The second man's accent placed him as a native of Inara, probably the Easternmost providence.

"And where, exactly, do I come in?" A third voice cut through their conversation, and both men looked up into the eyes of the Valiant. A holy warrior who serves all the gods, the Valiant changes only when the current wielder of the sword falls in battle--as once they are deemed worthy and have claimed the sword, they are immortal.

"We need a swordsman. The second man said, which caused the Valiant to glance pointedly at the sword belt draped over the empty chair. The second man snatched it up and the Valiant sat down, "Then what are you, exactly, Gathnar? Besides a man chasing legends."

"You know very well who I am, Soren." Gathnar said, nodding at Soren's pack, "why'd you bring that?"

Soren's only answer was to flick Gathnar's map off the table at him and unroll his own onto the table, showing a sprawling complex in the mountains in place of the dark patch. "One skill you get after a century as the Valiant, mapmaking." He stood up, pointing to a spot just outside of a city in the lower right quadrant of the map. "I have a few friends who will meet us out here just before we cross the Yengarn River." He slid his finger up to a point just before an area labeled 'Tinvell Pass'. "We should be able to make it to the pass before dark if we get moving at dawn, at which point we'll have to cross the pass on foot."

"Why not ride through up here?" The Northman said, standing up and pointing at a thoroughfare further north. "It'd take 3 days riding at a hard pace that your pack horses would collapse after an hour at, Emyr." Everyone knew of the extensive training Paladins and their warhorses went through, and how one could handle a hard sprint for 48 hours without showing signs of fatigue. Emyr nodded, knowing that Soren was basically telling him they were going to have to walk much of the way.

The next morning, Soren was sitting outside the inn, sharpening his longsword while he waited for his companions. Gathnar was the first to emerge from the building, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, "its not even light out yet, why do we gotta leave now?"

A glare cut anymore questions from Gathnar's mind as Soren spoke up, "because we have to meet up with the others and make the Yengarn by dawn if we want to make the pass before dark." He said, standing up and sheathing his sword as Emyr emerged from the building, and Soren stepped over to the black and white war horse tied to the fence, and he swung up into the saddle. "You two go get your horses and meet me back here in 5 minutes." He said, turning his horse and trotting off a few feet.

Just as dawn breaks over the horizon, the three canter up to a small band camped by the southern bank of the river, and one of the people holds a hand out to flag them down. The three people all nod at Soren, and the female, a short woman with shoulder length red hair, vivid sapphire blue eyes, is carrying a black wood staff.

One of the men is wearing gloves and has his hood pulled up to conceal his face, though his cloak is a dark midnight blue, that seems to ripple with every movement.

The only other of the three pulls a dagger out of a log he's using as a target, and turns to the group, "Soren, I would ask why you're late, but then I see the two guys you're travelling with and I see why." He said, tilting his head so his brown hair fluffs up slightly. He's short, but skinny and wirey, and his face has tribal paint on it, something odd for a King's Spy.

As the 6 sit down for breakfast, Soren introduces everyone. "Gathnar, Emyr, These are my friends, Naerie," The woman waved her hand slightly, "Onr," the man wearing the gloves gave what could best be described as a snuff, "and Wilyas." The short guy smirk and tossed his dagger in the air, catching it by the grip.


	2. Chapter 2

The 6 are heading towards the pass when Soren suddenly stops, slipping down out of the saddle. "What are you doing?" Gathnar asks, and Soren hisses at him, "be quiet!"

Soren slips his longsword free of its sheath and plants the tip firmly in the dirt, closing his eyes and planting his hand palm down on the prommel. Moments later when he opens his eyes, he turns back to the group, "dismount, follow me." He freed his sword as he dropped into a stooped run and crossed the 100 feet into the brush, and he noticed Wilyas slip silently into the brush next to him.

He turned his head slightly to the left to see Gathnar and Emyr barely being concealed by the bush they've wriggled into. On his right, he knew, was Naerie and Onr. He could already picture the way Onr was holding his hands, and the special half-staff Naerie had, that was enchanted to act like a sword when she fought with it. "Wait here." He whispered to Wilyas, and gave Naerie and Onr a hand signal to tell them the same thing.

He took a cautionary glance out into the trees, and belly-crawled over to where Gathnar and Emyr were concealed. "Do not engage the enemy unless we begin to fall. You haven't fought Hellions before, Gathnar." Soren told both men, before returning to his own concealment. A quick hand signal set all four companions charging forward.

As they broke through the brush, one of the brutish Hellions charged at them. He was intercepted by Onr, who grabbed him, and the two vanished into thin air. Wilyas sent four daggers flying at another one, all 4 hitting home in a tight grouping in the center of its chest. It didn't go down, however, and Wilyas produced a dagger from the side of his boot before charging forward.

"Icthar Comettus!" Naerie shouted, as the upper part of her half-staff glowed. The white-hot glow would not only let her use her incredible sword skills, but it would inflict magical burns on the opponent. She charged into battle, taking on one of the remaining two alone with it.

Soren reached for his sword before pausing briefly. He then reached for the other sword on his other side, and when his hand closed around the handle, he saw a flash of light and then was standing in front of the gods. Both swords, he knew, were held in a sort of purgatory for him, while he had this brief conference.

"Hellions. 4 of them. My companions," he was careful not to use the word friends, since both Gathnar and Emyr were currently travelling with him, "are dealing with 3, but my regular Paladin blade will be ineffective against them." He watched T'Lem and the others discuss in a language only they spoke, before the head god nodded. "Go. Use it."

Soren opened his eyes back on the battlefield--mere moments had passed, and he slid the Valiant blade free. Charging forward with a battle cry, he locked himself into battle with the last of the Hellions. Had he been new at being the Valiant, he would've used it like a normal sword, but he knew its potential. "Mortis Avenga!" He called out, slashing at the Hellion.

Instead of the desired effect, the spell backfired against him, rushing out of the Hellion to spread over the area. "Everyone get down!" He had to trust that they'd listen, the last thing he wanted was to see any of his friends hurt.

After the effects cleared, all 4 Hellions lay dead, but Onr was no where in sight. "Don't tell me..." Soren began, only to fall over from being startled by Onr appearing next to him.


	3. Chapter 3

Seron and the others decided to stop shortly after the fight to rest and eat lunch. He pulled out a sharpening kit and went about sharpening his longsword, watching Gathnar and Emyr stretch. "Get used to it, we're gonna be spending the rest of the day in the saddle." He told the two, putting his sword to the side, and helping to get lunch ready.

"So how do you guys meet?" Emyr asked, causing Wilyas to smirk. "You should tell the story, Seron."

Seron sighed, before speaking, "Well, I met Wilyas first, he is a King's Spy, but being from the native tribes he shouldn't have been accepted, but King Evenon accepted him. And made it a legal thing so he couldn't be fired."

"And now the king loves me and I'm his top spy!" Wilyas said, throwing a dagger at a tree.

"Naerie has been a long time friend of mine. I met her about 15 years ago after she graduated as a Spellblade, that staff of hers--as well as the half staff version--are made from dragon's wood. Wood that's been cultivated near a dragon's lair and has been forged in the fire of Ignar's forge."

Naerie smiled, "It's also a wood that's magically inclined, which is why it was an amazing gift."

"And what about Onr?" Emyr asked as the group saddled up.

"That's a story for another time." Seron said, glancing over at the robed man riding on his left. The truth was enough to get all six of them killed, and he wasn't ready to let his brother get killed just yet.

 _They must not find out._ Seron thought, remembering the oath he took centuries ago.

[Flashback]

A younger-looking Seron watched as his best friend and mentor, a Valiant by the name of Tinavar, fell in battle. The blade in his hand landing point-first dirt, Seron looked to his right.

His younger brother, a demon-spawn hybrid named Onr, was using his abilities as best he could, but he was no match for the hoards of Hellions heading their way. "Seron! Do something!" He called, vanishing and reppearing further back from the hoard.

Seron didn't think, he just moved, he moved forward, reaching out and grabbing the Valiant blade from its place in the dirt.

He opened his eyes in a large citadel, in front of him were all the gods, including T'Lem, his own patron God. "Seron. The Valiant blade has deemed you worthy of becoming the next Valiant, however, there a few things we need to take care of first."

The next image Seron saw was of Onr, his dark grey skin and white hair unmistakeable among the dark forms of the Hellion hoard. "This man, he is your brother? Who is your father?" Seron feared this would cause him to be deemed unworthy, but he spoke after just a few moments.

"Ragh'nok" the name of the high demon felt foreign on his lips. Unlike his brother, Seron departed the Lower Realms for the surface as a child, and basically raised himself. His brother had been born shortly before he left, and the two had only reunited recently.

"Make us an oath, to protect your brother and always fight agaisnt the power trying to take you over. Be the ultimate warrior for good, and show them the power of the Valiant."

Seron nodded, taking the knife offered by a page, and slashing his arm, letting the blood drip to the floor.

His eyes snapped open back on the battlefield, and it appeared only mere moments had passed. He rose, taking the blade with him. He spun around, giving a battle cry and charging forward into battle.

[End flashback]


End file.
